


Second Chances

by oceanbluecas



Series: Backward Sweethearts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Tumblr: deancas-sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanbluecas/pseuds/oceanbluecas
Summary: Four days into their honeymoon, Castiel and Dean were absolutely miserable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by [sixxstiel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxstiel), [GeekPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekPrincess), and [Areiton](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton). Many thanks to them for being so helpful on such short notice!

Four days into their honeymoon, Castiel and Dean were absolutely miserable.  
   
Castiel’s parents were traditionalists, which wasn’t exactly a bad thing. It earned them respect from many of the top grossing business executives in their field, along with much of the general populace. It was only in certain ways that it could be bothersome—such as the constant chaperoning, or holding onto virginity until a wedding night.   
   
For those with money to burn, it was just tedious. Every other dinner was a seven course _event,_ made to entertain. Young adults had presentation parties, where they “came out” and were displayed among others who led similar lifestyles, all in the hope of catching the eye of an eligible bachelor or bachelorette. Their homes had staff and their secretaries had secretaries. It was a lot to manage, but it was seen as just another part of life Castiel had learned to deal with.  
   
Even a marriage, a flight to California, and a honeymoon hadn’t separated them from the ways of Castiel’s family.  
   
On the plane to their first stop, a man named Marv sat in the row behind them. He was hired by the Miltons to schedule, oversee, and guide their trip. He was the event manager for their entire honeymoon, and as the embodiment of the union between two major corporations, _they_ were the event. Marv took his job seriously, and had been noticeably stressed since day one due to an initial flight delay. From departure to landing, he cursed quietly about how everything was behind schedule. He even complained loudly about how they’d been bumped down to second class due to an overbooking.  
   
In the seats ahead of him, Castiel and Dean exchanged perturbed glances. Despite being near strangers, they were able to wordlessly communicate their feelings about Marv’s presence fairly well. Castiel thought things were looking up when Dean tentatively took Castiel’s hand in his own, quietly admitting to a fear of flying. He felt a small surge of joy knowing his husband trusted him with that information and sought comfort from him, but once they landed, Castiel’s pleasant mood was shot when Marv rushed them to make their dinner reservation in Napa Valley. Even with Marv in the front of the limo with the chauffeur, they could still hear him grousing to the poor driver.  
   
The second day, Castiel awoke on the couch in their hotel suite buzzing with excitement. They had several wine tours on the agenda, and even Dean seemed interested—if only so he could compare their process to that of breweries. Dean was still in the shower when Marv burst in, raving about the note Castiel had sent him. Apparently wishing to cancel the hot air balloon ride (because of Dean’s fear of flying) derailed all of Marv’s plans for them. In his desperation to fix it, Marv filled their day with nearly _too many_ activities. Before Castiel knew it, the sun was setting and he was on a plane to their next destination, bone tired, bodily sore from a terrible experience horse riding, and mentally exhausted from trying to keep up with it all. At his side, Dean was slumped against his shoulder, already dozing. No doubt Dean was just as worn out as Castiel was.  
   
Dean’s light snores were endearing, though.  
   
Castiel slept nearly the entirety of the eight hour flight to Maui. It was only Dean’s quiet panic at the turbulence just before they landed that jolted him back to consciousness. His husband’s face was buried in his neck and his hand was being gripped so tightly it ached, but Castiel simply slid an arm around Dean’s shoulders and held him until the plane touched down.  
   
It turned out that Marv once again had a full day scheduled, so they hit the ground running, leis bouncing off their chests with each hurried step. The manager considered the sleep they’d gotten on the flight more than enough, apparently, and hadn’t even scheduled their hotel check-in until late in the evening. In less than sixteen hours, they’d dined at two high scale restaurants, attended a luau, visited a park, toured a volcano, and even had surfing lessons—but weren’t allotted extra time to make _use_ of those lessons. They didn’t have a moment to themselves. It felt like their wedding all over again; they were side by side, but not together.  
   
By the time they arrived at the resort, Castiel was so fatigued that he didn’t even bother changing into pajamas. He threw off his suit jacket, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed on the bed. He acknowledged Dean’s tired “goodnight, sweetheart” with a grunt, and closed his eyes. He dreamed of his husband floating on a surfboard, clad in green swim trunks and freckles, and that, at least, was good.  
   
The fourth day was more of the same.  
   
Dean was tense, leg bouncing up and down in agitation after being ushered into the limo for the nth time. They were barely in motion before Marv started up his griping from the front seat. This particular chauffeur was more than willing to add her own list of grievances to the conversation, and both of their mouths had been running—loudly and nonstop—since dawn.  
   
Castiel didn’t begrudge them their opinions, but their obnoxious volume was disruptive in the rare moments he and Dean had alone. Tucked in the back of the limo, they weren’t rich newlyweds playing a role of sophistication and grace, all dressed up in their tuxes for people to _oooh_ and _ahhh_ at while they enjoyed their luxurious honeymoon. They were nothing more than Dean and Castiel, two worn out individuals in desperate need to change out of their stiff clothing and take a well deserved nap.  
   
Dean’s hand reached up to loosen his bow tie, and Castiel’s own instinctively flew out to catch it.  
   
“Don’t,” Castiel said, “Marv will throw a fit.”  
   
Dean rolled his eyes. “Marv can bite me.”  
   
“We just have to make it through one more event today, Dean. We need to keep up appearances.”  
   
Dean didn’t reply, but he didn’t mess with his bow tie for the rest of the drive, either.  
   
They were surprised when, several long moments after coming to a stop, it wasn’t the snarky driver opening the door to let them out, but instead it was Marv ducking into the backseat with them. He spoke curtly, barely restrained rage in his tone. “There’s a bit of a problem.”  
   
Dean huffed and slumped back in his seat. “Which is?”  
   
“We’re not on the list for this showing. We’re on the list for the _next_ showing.”  
   
Castiel furrowed his brow. “But you run such a tight schedule. I find it unlikely that you'd make a mistake like this.”  
   
The comment had been made from a feeling of pity in Castiel’s gut for their manager. He had been through as much as they had, after all, and he was in charge of organizing it on top of that. Even if Castiel resented it (and had a lot of pent up, negative thoughts about the man), no one could deny the effort Marv put into his job.  
   
It had the desired effect.  
   
Marv smiled tightly and then breathed a sigh that was part relief and part mental preparation. “It seems the staff had a mix up with our ticket reservations. I’m gonna go out there and raise hell until we’re let in.”  
   
“And if we’re not?” Dean asked.  
   
“Then we’ll have to bite the bullet and attend the midnight show.” Marv ran his hands down his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles and adjusted his tie. “We can't miss it. The press were notified of your attendance. You'll have to make an appearance one way or the other.”  
   
Dean groaned and turned away to glare out the tinted windows, jaw set.  
   
Castiel wished he could show his own outward display of frustration, but as the son of the family that hired this man, he had a responsibility to be courteous. “Thank you, Marv. Are we to wait here?”  
   
Marv nodded, reaching for the door handle. “The driver will pull out of the way of the other cars, but I'll come get you once I have clearance for you to come in. Enjoy some champagne while you wait or something.”  
   
With that, Marv left, the door clicking shut behind him. Dean immediately reached for the cooler and poured them each a glass of the bubbly drink.   
   
“What showing are we here for again?” Dean asked absently, examining the champagne bottle.   
   
“An opera,” Castiel answered, taking a small sip. It was good, but he wished it were a little stronger, if only to relax him a bit.  
   
Over the next hour, as they emptied the bottle and opened another, Castiel learned several things about his husband.   
   
For starters, Dean hated the opera. He’d spent one too many an evening in the opera house with his grandma Campbell—Dean’s namesake, interestingly enough—as a child to find it anything but dull.  
   
Surprisingly, Dean admitted to having to buy new suits and tuxes for this occasion, as he’d owned only a couple beforehand. He commented on the fitting process at the tailor’s, how uncomfortable he’d been with a stranger feeling him up, and how ridiculous he found the whole thing.  
   
Castiel also learned that Dean was an anxious talker. Dean chattered nonstop and fidgeted with his champagne glass, taking drink after drink after drink. Castiel drank too, his own nerves getting the best of him. This was the first time he’d been left alone with Dean since their wedding night, and for the life of him, he had no idea what to say.  
   
He was content to let Dean do all the talking for him.  
   
Suffice to say, when Marv returned, his face was nearly as flushed as Dean’s was from the alcohol, but Marv’s expression was nothing but anger. He took in Dean’s disheveled state and Castiel’s rumpled tux and it was like something snapped in him.   
   
“Seriously?!” Marv barked, slamming the door behind him. He sat across from them and motioned toward them. “I leave you two alone for a minute and you turn yourselves into disasters! There's an army of paparazzi out there waiting to photograph you two and you're—are you _drunk_?!”  
   
“No,” Castiel said, affronted. As he spoke, he swayed a little in his seat. “...Yes.”  
   
Marv threw his hands up. “Unbelievable.”  
   
“We’ll be fine,” Castiel consoled him. He straightened his coat and looked out the window to see a small gathering of people with cameras near the main entrance of the theater. “We’re not so inebriated that we can’t walk from here to our seats.”  
   
The manager gave them a skeptical look. Slowly, as if he were concerned they were too daft to understand, he said, “There are two flights of stairs between here and there. You’re _Miltons_ , for Christ’s sake. You have balcony seats.”  
   
Dean huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “ _Winchester_ -Miltons. We hyphenated.”  
   
“Not the point! Can you make the trip without humiliating yourselves, or worse, _me_ , in front of all these people?”  
   
“Of course,” Castiel confirmed, hiccuping a little. He sat up and reached for the door handle. “We can—”  
   
“Holy mother of—!” Marv gasped, grabbing Castiel’s wrist before he could open the door. “Your shirt!”  
   
Castiel blinked heavy lids and looked down at his chest. “What about it?”  
   
“It’s stained!”  
   
“Oh, yeah, I spilt a little of my drink on it,” Castiel muttered. He pulled his coat tighter to cover the mark, but as soon as he let go, it fell back to the side, leaving the stain on full display.  
   
Marv dug in his pockets frantically, cursing under his breath. He pulled out a Tide to Go pen and set to work on Castiel’s shirt. “I don’t have _time_ for this crap,” he grumbled under his breath, face scrunched up in emotion as he rubbed the stain remover aggressively into the fabric. “Spoiled rich brats, the whole lot of you.”  
   
“That was rude,” Dean grunted, hunched over on the other side of the bench seat, watching them with hooded eyes.  
   
“It’s true,” Marv retorted, “You both expect me to do _everything_ for you.” His attention was on the stain and his motions became rougher as he spoke. “You’re so helpless, it’s no wonder they hired me to manage you. You two wouldn’t be able to wipe your own asses if I didn’t schedule a time and a place for you to do it.”  
   
Castiel grimaced, more than annoyed by Marv’s speech, but he held his tongue. When he spoke, he attempted to remain pleasant in his tone, as was expected of him. “I understand that we need to make appearances and maintain a good public image, Marv, and I realize you’ve been working for that, but your mouth is getting away with you. Need I remind you that I’m your employer?”  
   
“ _You_?” Marv snorted. “You are _not_ my employer. Your stuffy mother hired me for this job, and had I known how abhorrent it would be babysitting a spoiled brat and some backwoods lumberjack arm-candy, I would’ve turned her down.”  
   
“Hey!” Dean snapped, jolting forward to sit up. He wobbled momentarily, his sense of balance warped by his drunken state, but it didn’t stop him from growling, “Doesn’t matter who your boss is. You ain’t got any right to talk to Cas like that.”  
   
Marv paid him no mind. “Shove it, Billy Bob.” He concentrated solely on the strain now, furiously rubbing at the shirt. Even through the material, the pen was rough against Castiel’s skin, the tip digging into his chest with each frantic movement—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  
   
“Ow,” Castiel hissed, “Marv, that hurts—”  
   
It only made sense for the fabric to give, ripping under Marv’s rage-fueled ministrations.   
   
Marv lurched back as if surprised at his own actions, staring wide-eyed at the red lines across Castiel’s skin and the blood welling to the surface.   
   
Dean yanked the Tide to Go pen from Marv’s hand and flung it across the limo. He shoved Marv back, away from Castiel. “What the _fuck_ , man?!”  
   
“Dean, it’s okay, he didn’t mean—”  
   
Marv fell in a heap against the opposite seat. He glared up at them. “You have an _image_ to uphold! You signed up for this! You morons should know better than this! I only did what I needed—”  
   
The punch landed square in Marv’s face.  
   
“Fuck this shit,” Dean snarled, looking from Marv’s bleeding nose to Castiel’s shocked face. “Fuck all of this. I’m done.”  
   
Before anyone could say or do anything, Dean was gone, the limo door slamming behind him. Through the window, Castiel could see the paparazzi swarming him, but Dean shoved his way through the crowd and out of sight.  
   
“That no good, bottom feeding, sheep fucking _maggot_ ,” Marv snarled, clutching his nose. “How _dare_ he! I’m—”  
   
Castiel cursed under his breath and pushed the door open. He spared Marv one last look, yanking the handkerchief out of his coat pocket and tossing it to the man. “For the blood. I hope you’re aware that you were more than deserving of what you got, Marv.”  
   
Marv sputtered indignantly behind him, but Castiel ignored him as he exited the car. Cameras flashed and a cacophony of voices filled the air, asking question after invasive question. Spots filled Castiel’s sight from the bright lights aimed in his direction and he tried in vain to blink them away. Stubbornly, he kept his mouth shut and marched forward, into and through the crowd.   
   
The paparazzi finally gave up on getting anything out of him after several blocks. When the last man retreated, shouting out a courteous warning about an incoming storm, Castiel felt a small weight lift. He wasn’t worried about the weather. In fact, he welcomed it, because he didn’t want anyone out and about to intrude on the talk he hoped to have with his husband.  
   
In the distance, Dean as a small figure walking steadily on under the streetlights.  
   
Castiel followed. He didn’t rush ahead, simply holding pace with Dean, maintaining the space between them. He hoped Dean would use the time to calm down, sober up, and gather his thoughts.   
   
Castiel’s own thoughts were in an uproar. For the first time since this whole honeymoon fiasco began, Castiel had enjoyed himself. As poor a situation as it had been, being stuck alone in the back of that limo with nothing but a couple bottles of champagne and Dean had lifted his spirits more than he’d imagined.   
   
The entire trip had been chaotic. They were too busy, too stressed, never alone, and always surrounded by someone they were meant to impress. They’d adopted their public personas, the ones they’d used for years, put on a show for the media and chatted with anyone in a prominent standing.  
   
What was supposed to be their honeymoon was actually a drawn out publicity stunt, and Castiel chastised himself for not figuring it out sooner. The sad thing is, he wasn’t even surprised by it. He knew better. He should’ve expected this from his parents—everything was a business opportunity to them. He was simply disappointed in himself for not seeing the trip for what it truly was.  
   
The marriage was a business deal. It only made sense that the honeymoon be the advertising campaign.  
   
Without realizing it, Castiel’s gaze had fallen to the pavement below his feet, watching each step he took in his shiny black dress shoes. He raised his eyes to find Dean and experienced a moment of sheer panic when he saw nothing but empty road and a dead end ahead of him.   
   
He’d reached the end of the island, and Dean was gone.  
   
The road was forked, going to the left and the right, turning into gravel and private drives. Not too far from where Castiel stood was a large house, but it was dark and motionless, probably someone’s vacation home. In front of him was a tall fence and a gate propped slightly ajar. The smell of salt water was strong in the air, stronger than it had been further inland at the theater. Undoubtedly the gate before him would open up to a secluded beach belonging to one of the nearby properties.  
   
The sounds of waves crashing angrily into the shore drove Castiel forward. He slipped past the gate, hoping Dean had been the one to open it and that he wasn’t trespassing pointlessly. Making his way through the thick green brush with alcohol still knocking his system out of whack was more difficult than he’d planned, but he counted it as a win when he didn’t trip or fall. He was sobering up quickly, and for that, he was glad.  
   
Emerging from the greenery, Castiel’s shoes sunk into soft, white sand. Further down the gentle slope of the beach was his husband, and the sight of him left Castiel completely bewildered.   
   
Articles of clothing littered the ground in a trail leading up to Dean, who stood barefoot at the water’s edge, clad in only a pair of boxers. His undershirt, soaking wet, was bundled up in his hand, and as Castiel approached, Dean shouted wordlessly and threw the shirt as far out into the ocean as he could. It landed a ways off with a thick splash, and Dean yelled again, turning around. His eyes scanned the sandy floor, as if looking for the next nearest clothing item, but he froze when he saw Castiel.   
   
It only lasted a moment.  
   
Dean lurched back into motion, spreading his arms wide, swaying with the breeze in his drunken state. He puffed his bare chest out and spoke boldly, his body tensing further with each word.  
   
“This is it, Castiel,” he called out, and Castiel felt his chest tighten, but Dean went on. “I can’t do this anymore. I tried it, and I just can’t! This isn’t me, this isn’t gonna work.”  
   
Castiel stepped closer, heart pounding. Surely Dean wasn’t proposing a divorce. It would void the business contracts between their families, not to mention the scandal.   
   
Wind howled loudly and Castiel’s voice rose above it. “Dean! What are you talking about?”  
   
Dean laughed and motioned at Castiel, at their surroundings, and at the bits of his tuxedo blowing away down the beach. “All of _this_!”  
   
Castiel rolled his eyes, coming to a stop mere feet away from his husband to glare properly at him. “If you’re being purposefully vague to be dramatic, knock it off. Just tell me what’s wrong.”  
   
Dean snorted, looking up to the dark cloudy sky and shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”  
   
Castiel’s hand shot out to grip Dean’s forearm, catching his attention. “Talk to me.”  
   
This time, Dean motioned at his own nearly nude body. “The clothes, Cas. The limo. The chauffeur. The fancy suites in million dollar resorts, the reserved meals in overpriced restaurants with snobby staff, the event manager, the expectations— _hell_ , Cas, the fucking first class flights!”  
   
Dean spun around and picked up his nearby shoe from where it lay buried in the sand. “This life you want me to lead isn’t _me_.” He flung the shoe out into the water. “I’m sorry you thought you were marrying someone like you, and I’m sorry I let it get this far, but I can’t live the lie.” He chucked the other shoe after the first. “I thought I could, but I can’t _do_ this.”  
   
Dean kept his back to Castiel, and together they quietly watched Dean’s penny loafers float out to sea. Castiel, oddly, almost felt relieved. Dean was passionate, being entirely honest with him for what was probably the first time since their wedding night.   
   
Castiel decided to ask the question that’s been burning in the back of his mind since the start. “Why’d you marry me?”  
   
Dean shrugged, not turning to face his husband. “You want the truth?”  
   
“Of course, Dean,” Castiel answered, nodding even though Dean couldn’t see him. “Please.”  
   
With another shrug, Dean said, “Without the deal, my family’s company would’ve gone bankrupt by next year. Your family somehow found out, and made an offer that we couldn’t refuse. It’d get us back on our feet and stabilize us again, and both companies would benefit from it. We couldn’t say no.”  
   
Castiel thought that over before speaking again. “But why did _you_ marry me? It could’ve just as easily been your brother.”  
   
“It had to be me,” Dean said, “Sam’s the smart one between the two of us. He’s in college, topping his class, and he’s got a beautiful girl he’s head over heels in love with. He’s got a mind for business and already knows so much more about running our company than I ever will. There’s a bright future for that kid, and I don’t want to see it ruined because someone has to marry a stranger just to keep us afloat until he can take over.”  
   
“I see,” Castiel said, “You thought you were taking a bullet for him.”  
   
Dean looked down at his hands, and Castiel could see him spinning the wedding ring on his finger in circles, the silver reflecting the light from the nearby streetlamp. There was wry amusement in Dean’s tone when he said, “We’re not like your family, Cas. We weren’t born into this life. Mom wasn’t expecting to be able to afford to feed even just Sammy and I, so her and Dad made it so they couldn’t have kids anymore. You have what—five, six siblings?”  
   
“Seven,” Castiel corrected.  
   
“So yeah, your family can afford it, but with us, it’s just me and Sammy. I _was_ taking a bullet. The company and the family fortune only has two heirs and successors, and Sammy deserves it more than I ever will.”  
   
“Is that how you see this?” Castiel said, feeling disappointment bubbling up inside him. “This was just a business deal, a burden to be beared in order to save your family, and nothing more?”  
   
Dean still wouldn’t look at him. “Cas, sweetheart, you’ve got three older brothers and two hot sisters. _They_ ’ _re_ the prime cuts of the Milton family. Your brothers are closer in line to inherit than you’ll ever be. No offense, but you were just a bargaining chip, too.”  
   
Castiel bristled. It hurt to hear Dean say it, but Castiel already knew that. He _knew_ that his status in his family was minimal. He was sixth in line to inherit and likely never would, unless every sibling older than him passed it up or died—and hopefully that wouldn’t happen. Truth be told, Castiel didn’t _want_ to inherit. He volunteered for this because he knew he was nothing more than a player in the game, his worth in society being tied to the name on his birth certificate, and he was ready to get away from it all. This marriage was to be his escape.  
   
But it was also his chance at a new beginning.  
   
Castiel’s hands came up to untie the bow at his throat, then continued down, unbuttoning his shirt. “Bargaining chip or not,” Castiel said, raising his voice above the crashing waves, “This was the only chance I had, so I came into this hoping to find my own happily ever after, one _without them_. And I still plan to!”  
   
He saw more than heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath, in the motions of his back and his shoulders, but still, Dean didn’t turn.  
   
His jacket undone and his shirt flapping open in the wind, Castiel steadied himself, shouted, “The expectations!”, and sent his shoe flying over Dean’s shoulder and into the ocean.   
   
Dean twisted around, jaw slack and eyes wide as he stared at his husband. “Cas?”  
   
The other shoe went sailing by Dean’s head and Castiel yelled, “The public image!”  
   
Castiel’s coat went next, but it was intercepted by the wind and blew down the beach instead of into the water. Nevertheless, Castiel cried out, “The paparazzi!”  
   
“Cas,” Dean gasped, a smile slowly spreading across his features.  
   
Castiel’s belt went next. “The events!” Then the tie. “The seven course dinners!” Then the shirt. “The limitations!” Then the undershirt. “The responsibilities I didn’t ask for!” Then the socks. “The stuffy mansions!” Then his pants, which his threw with gusto. “Marv!”  
   
Dean stopped him before he could reach for his boxer briefs, and it was enough to bring Castiel back to himself. He gazed up at Dean, blinking at the bright smile lighting his husband’s features. “Dean?”  
   
Dean nodded, running his hands up and down Castiel’s arms briskly, as if trying to combat the goosebumps that had risen with the wind. He swallowed nervously before speaking, but his lips remained tilted upward. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”  
   
Castiel reached up to still Dean’s hands. “If we’d been able to properly talk, you would have.”  
   
Dean smirked. “That damn event manager, huh?”  
   
“Dean,” Castiel sighed, fighting back his own smile, “I’m being serious. I _like_ you. I want to try being with you, see if I can love you like I want to. I don’t want to regret this marriage.”  
   
“Me, too, Cas,” Dean said, eyes hesitantly meeting Castiel’s, “but I can’t be what your family wants me to be. I don’t _want_ to divorce, because that would mean ruin for my family, but I just…”  
   
“You can’t live a lie,” Castiel finished for him. At Dean’s nod, Castiel reached up to cup his husband’s face in his hands. “You don’t have to, Dean.”  
   
Dean’s brow furrowed. “But how…?”  
   
The smattering of freckles across Dean’s nose was barely visible in the dull light, and Castiel made a silent vow to kiss every single one of them before their honeymoon was through. He leaned up and pressed his lips to Dean’s cheek, just under his eye. When he pulled back, he shrugged. “You threw away the lies with your clothes.”  
   
“What—? I—”  
   
Castiel kept going. “And I tossed out the expectations with mine.”  
   
“Cas, sweetheart, I’m not following…”  
   
Castiel pressed another kiss to Dean’s face. “Let’s stop following the schedule. Let’s stop meeting expectations and lying about who we are. Let’s leave the island, and Marv, and _all_ of this behind. Let’s fly to wherever we want. Let’s do this _our_ way, enjoy _our_ honeymoon the way we should’ve been from the start.”  
   
Dean’s eyes fluttered shut when Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead, and his smile softened. “And after?”  
   
Castiel shrugged. “We’ll make it up as we go, but it’ll be _our_ decision, and no one else’s.”  
   
“Then let’s go,” Dean declared, grinning. At that moment, the sky lit up in a flash of lightning, and as the thunder boomed, rain began pouring down, immediately soaking them and prompting Dean to double over laughing.   
   
Castiel rushed to pick up his cell phone and his wallet where he’d left them in the sand next to Dean’s. He cursed when he dropped one of the wallets and had to scoop it back up again, but as he caught Dean’s eye, he found himself breaking into small giggles of his own.   
   
“This is ridiculous,” Castiel called out as they ran for the brush, clad in only their underwear.   
   
Dean’s cheeks were pink from his amusement. “You didn’t have to strip too! How are we gonna get a cab in this weather? Are they even gonna give us a ride if we’re naked?”  
   
“We’re not naked,” Castiel huffed, huddling under a cluster of palm trees. It wasn’t helping nearly as much to keep him dry as he’d hoped it would, but he resolutely dialed a number and called them a cab.   
   
Dean came up to wrap his arms around Castiel the moment he hung up, and the heat of Dean’s slick body behind him had Castiel leaning back into him without hesitation. He brought his own arms up to hold Dean’s against his waist, sighing in contentment.  
   
“Gotta huddle for warmth,” Dean muttered, pressing close mouthed kisses along Castiel’s neck and shoulders. Castiel hummed his agreement, tilting his head to the side to give Dean more space. The kisses were lazy and pleasant, and they stayed like that until the howling of the storm was interrupted by the honk of a taxi right outside the gates.   
   
It was with great reluctance that Castiel untangled himself from Dean, but by then, they were both soaking wet and cold. The driver laughed at their attire (or lack thereof), assuming they’d been out for a nighttime swim when the storm hit and had lost their clothing to the wind. She just gleefully handed them a couple of towels, smiling as she watched them dry off.  
   
They accepted that as their impromptu cover story and used it to buy clothes at a 24-hour Walmart, and then headed straight for the airport. They tipped the driver well and waved her off, then entered the building.   
   
“Where do you wanna go, Cas?” Dean asked, approaching a kiosk.  
   
Castiel just watched Dean poke at the screen, taking in his softly ruffled appearance. Dean was just as attractive in sweatpants and a hoodie as he was in a tuxedo. All the product in his hair had been washed away by the rain, and it stuck up in tufts of—  
   
“Cas?”  
   
Castiel blinked. “Oh, yes, sorry.” He joined Dean at the kiosk. “We’re supposed to go to New Zealand next, so I suppose we should avoid it. It’s probably the first place they’ll look for us.” He looked at Dean and shrugged. “Where would you like to go?”  
   
Dean hummed thoughtfully. “Well, this honeymoon is supposed to be like a series of our first dates, since we’re sweethearts and all, right?”  
   
“Yes, I believe that’s what we agreed upon.”  
   
“Then we should be using this time to get to know each other,” Dean said. He turned hopefully to Castiel. “Let’s show each other our favorite places. How’s that sound?”  
   
Castiel smiled. “That’s a delightful idea, Dean.”  
   
They booked their flights fairly easily after that, zoomed through security, and found their gate. Due to the storm, all the planes were delayed, the terminal was packed, and the seats were all taken, so they found an unoccupied corner and sat on the floor, curled together under a blanket Castiel had bought for the flight.   
   
“Hey, Cas?”  
   
Castiel slid his fingers between Dean’s, smiling at the ring glinting back at him. “Yes, sweetheart?”  
   
“Well, uh, you said earlier that you like me,” Dean mumbled, green eyes darting up to gaze at Castiel hopefully.  
   
Castiel nodded. “I did say that.”  
   
“...Did you mean it?”  
   
Dean’s shy tone had Castiel’s lips tilting upward. “I did.”  
   
“Oh.” Dean cleared his throat. “That’s cool. ‘Cause I, uh, I like you, too, Cas. Jus’ thought you’d wanna know.”  
   
Castiel surprised himself by surging forward and kissing Dean, but Dean sighed into it, and as his arms circled around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer, Castiel couldn’t help sending a quiet prayer of thanks up with the heavens.  
  
This marriage was his second chance, but Dean may just be his happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please tap that kudos button! （ っ◜◡◝）っ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆❤


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